


Wings

by Wxlves



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, Unfinished Work- Abandoned and Discontinued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-02 23:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves
Summary: Cassian, unable to swallow down the question burning in his throat, asked, even as his stomach roiled at the thought, “Will-” he stopped, took a breath, and continued. “Will I ever fly again?”The dread was hot coals burning in his stomach, eating away at his insides for every second the healer didn’t answer. Eventually, he craned his neck as far as possible to try looking at her. She paused her work, lifting her head so her rich brown eyes, so like Mor’s, met his. The eye contact lasted only a second before she returned to her work, brusquely replying, “Your back muscles will heal completely. As for your wings, it’s too early to know for sure, but likely not.”-AU where Cassian's wings are permanently damaged after the fight with Hybern (ACoMaF)(Note: This was initially going to be really angsty with a sad ending, but then I decided not to do that to my kids. Still angsty, but the ending is happy(er))





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1-  _ Cassian _

 

Pain. That was all Cass felt before he even opened his eyes. He heard the voice of his training commander in his head,  _ assess the situation, learn what you can before they know you’re able.  _ His ears picked up faint whispers from the other room but his head was too fogged to know whether he recognized them, instinct telling him to assume they're not friendly. When the clean, sterile smell of the room failed to reveal anything, besides the faintest hint of a familiar scent, he thought back, trying to remember what happened before he blacked out. All he could think of was pain.  _ Okay, what hurts?  _ he thought, hoping that could give him some clues.  _ Everything. What hurts the most? My back...no, my wings.  _ Sudden terror shot through him, overriding every minute of training and every instinct as he opened his eyes and sat up, far too fast. And screamed. That was when the whispering voices abruptly stopped and a lone figure rushed into the room. Cass prayed this was no one he’d have to defend himself against, but when the violet-eyed fae dropped to his knees before the bed, he sagged back against the pillows in relief. 

 

“Rhys,” he croaked out, throat rasping. Rhys took Cassian’s hand into both his own, bowing his neck and resting his forehead on their joined hands. 

 

“Mor and Az are outside. We didn’t want to startle you by all rushing in, but they’ve been worried, Cass. I have too.” 

 

With a jolt Cass remembered Azriel, the blood pouring from his chest, and struggled to sit up again, biting his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Az. Az. Is he okay? He’s here? He’s-” Rhys cut him off.

 

“He’s okay. He’s still injured, but healing. He’ll be okay.” Images of his camp-brother’s scarred, bloodied corpse dissipated instantly, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. Cass finally looked over at his High Lord, kneeling beside the bed, and chuckled hoarsely. 

 

“Get off your damn knees, Rhys. You’ll kneel before no one, and tattoo your knees to prove it, but the instant I’m dying you bow like I’m your leige.” Rhys laughed, full lips curling, but worry still shadowed his eyes. 

 

“I’ll get them now, lay down Cass.” 

 

“Mother hen.”

 

A delighted laugh came from the doorway, and Cass looked up to see Mor there, Azriel’s shadowed form looming behind her. “Good to see you haven’t lost your charm, you oversized bat.” Cass gave another dry, rasping laugh, then slid his gaze over to the shifting shadows still in the doorway. 

 

“Azriel.”

 

The shadows slunk away to reveal Az, shifting from foot to foot with more restlessness than Cass had ever seen from the Shadowsinger. His hazel eyes, usually so cold, were filled with warmth and relief, and as he knelt on one knee by the bed, Cass saw the deep bruises etched under his eyes. His scarred skin was several shades paler than the usual deep tan, yet these were the only physical signs of the injury that had left him crumpled on the ground. Cass didn’t reach for Azriel the way Rhys had for him, letting the solid, steady presence speak for the lack of physical contact. Azriel let out a little huff, corners of his mouth curling slightly which Cassian took to mean he was ecstatic, his ever-present shadows nowhere in sight. 

 

The polite clearing of a throat sounded from behind Mor and an old woman bustled into the room, arms full of clay jars. Her features had the strong cast and vicious beauty of the High Fae, but her face was set with deep wrinkles. Cassian marveled at how ancient this woman must be if Rhys, after five centuries, looked to be a human early in his second decade. She clucked her tongue, frowning, and scolded, 

“I hope for your sake you didn’t reopen your wounds, Illyrian.” Cassian, startled at being scolded by this ancient, tiny woman, just blinked. The woman turned, gave an unimpressed look to the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, and shooed him out, The Morrigan and the Spymaster quickly following. Once the Inner Circle (no, Feyre was gone) had left, the healer turned to Cass,  a guarded look in her eyes. It wasn’t fear of him, he had a strong feeling this woman would be just as unimpressed with him in his siphons and armor than she was now. In fact, that look wasn’t fear of anything, it was fear  _ for  _ something. For _ him?  _ She didn’t let him know what was going on inside her grey-haired head, instead ordering, “turn around.” When Cass twisted too fast, she barked, “Careful!” and he slowed his movements, swinging his legs around painstakingly slowly. 

 

Illyrian wings were incredibly sensitive, and the first brush of fingers against the bandaged membrane, despite the pain, set the hairs along his spine standing up. The healer, clearly experienced with wings such as his, deftly unwrapped the bloodied bandages. Cassian, unable to swallow down the question burning in his throat, asked, even as his stomach roiled at the thought, “Will-” he stopped, took a breath, and continued. “Will I ever fly again?” 

 

The dread was hot coals burning in his stomach, eating away at his insides for every second the healer didn’t answer. Eventually, he craned his neck as far as possible to try looking at her. She paused her work, lifting her head so her rich brown eyes, so like Mor’s, met his. The eye contact lasted only a second before she returned to her work, brusquely replying, “Your back muscles will heal completely. As for your wings, it’s too early to know for sure, but likely not.” At this, she again paused and peered back up at him. With surprising tenderness she added, “I am truly sorry. I know what your wings mean to you Illyrians, and I swear on my lover’s grave, may she rest in peace, I tried my absolute hardest.” 

 

Cassian, numbed to his core, just nodded. “I believe you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-  _ Rhysand _

It was nearly midnight when the healer had finished with the poultices and bandages, and Rhys hadn’t heard a word from either Cassian or her in almost an hour. Though he had done his best not to eavesdrop with his highly-tuned Fae ears, the silence said enough. Cass was never quiet for so long a time. The healer slipped out the healing room door quietly, with a slight curtsy to Rhys as she did so. He extended his hand towards her, bowing low, and said, “thank you, Roma. For everything.” She showed only the faintest flicker of surprise at this deference, and simply nodded in response. She was almost out the building when she paused, taking a step back. 

 

“I almost forgot, he should stay at the sanctuary tonight, but will be able to go home tomorrow morning. I’ll return then with salves for him to take back.” She opened her mouth as if to say more, but hesitated. Rhys, sensing her uncertainty, cocked his head to the side; encouraging. Roma leveled her gaze at him, the weight of four thousand years in her eyes as she warned, “Watch him and keep him close. He needs it.” Then she was gone. Rhys turned to see Mor, eyes filled with anguish, and Azriel, stone faced and quiet. 

 

“You two should head back to the townhouse, get some rest.” The Fae and Illyrian both shook their heads in a defiant no. 

 

“I’ll leave with him, in the morning. For now…” Mor gestured at the various chairs arranged in the sitting area. That night three of the most powerful beings in Prythian fell asleep on armchairs. 

 

When Rhys awoke, Azriel was gone. He looked to Mor, but she was asleep, blond hair splayed on the armrest of the chair, red lipstick somehow perfectly in place. His nostrils flared as he sniffed at the air, smelling no blood or anything that pertained to a struggle. Of course not. Cauldron help the man who tries to kidnap the Shadowsinger from right under his court’s noses. After a moment of focusing his hearing he detected two breaths, deep and heavy in sleep, coming from the healing room where Cassian lay. Rhys opened the door as quietly as he could and looked in. Cass was asleep on his side, muscled chest rising and falling in sleep. Azriel lay on his stomach over the sheets, next to the Commander with an arm awkwardly thrown over Cass’ torso. Rhys smiled sadly at the scene before him, so like those long years ago. 

 

_ Azriel would wake screaming, night after night. He refused help from anyone, even Cass and Rhys, who were his brothers by now. It had taken weeks to get even the slightest hint of what he’d been through out of him. Months and months passed before he told them what truly occurred with his brothers. Why he had the horrible scars covering his hands. It wasn’t difficult to guess at burn scars, but how they’d come to mark his skin, even with fast Illyrian healing, was a story he’d buried deep. After nearly a year of waking, every night, to his screams, (and more often than not, Cass’ soothing whispers) Rhys awoke to find the red rays of sun just beginning to creep over the tops of the Steppes. He had slept through the night. More importantly, Azriel had slept through the night. When he went searching for the source of this newfound peace, he found it in Cassian, large arm draped over Az’s torso, two tan, muscled chests rising and falling in tandem. For months, they slept like that every night. As far as Rhys knew, no romantic feelings were attached to these nights, nothing occurring but a deep sleep, lacking nightmares for either Illyrian.  _

 

Rhys shut the door as quietly as he could, Illyrians’ ears were as sensitive as their wings. When he turned he saw Mor just beginning to stir. She cracked one eyelid, peered at him a moment, then shut it again, covering her eyes in the crook of her elbow. “Graceful,” Rhys scoffed, eyes rolling. Mor pulled her lip back in a silent snarl and flipped so she faced away from him. A sudden wave of loneliness hit him and he wished Feyre were there, despite knowing she wanted to be in the Spring Court, she relished being able to gather information on the man she likely hated more than anyone. He sent these thoughts down the bond, and got a soft reply.  _ I miss you too.  _ Heaving a sigh, Rhys collapsed back into his chair and waited for dawn to come creeping in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was so short, next one will be longer, I promise


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-  _ Azriel _

Cass’ movements stirred Azriel awake too. He rolled onto one side to find Cass’ bandaged back inches from his nose, tattoos blurred from their proximity to his face. He craned his neck backwards, the Illyrian runes slowly coming into focus, spelling  _ strength  _ with a long, raised scar running through the middle. “Just like old times, huh?” Cassian’s tone was light, but Az could hear the dull, heavy undertone, despite his best attempts at hiding it. The Shadowsinger decided to play along for now, adopting as cheery a tone as he ever got and asking, 

 

“Sleep well?” Cass’ snort was derisive, but he nodded, which Azriel took to mean  _ fine.  _ “The healer said you could be released today. She’ll give you some salves to take with you.” Az slid out of bed and efficiently buckled his armor on over the shirt and pants he already wore. He heard a hiss and turned to see Cass sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to stand. Noticing his white-knuckled grip on the thin wooden bedpost, Azriel held out a hand, gripping Cass’ wrist and pulling him into a standing position. 

 

“Thanks,” Cass huffed, breathlessly, nostrils flaring as he inhaled against the pain. Azriel studied him a moment, once again stiff and stone-faced, shadows slithering over his wrists and up his arms. “What do they sound like?” Following his gaze down to his own wrists, where Cassian’s eyes tracked the shadows, he gave a tug on that darkness deep within, pulling the shadows towards him so they curled around the back of his neck. 

 

“They sound cold and dark. It’s a hissing noise they make, yet I hear words.” Az tilted his head, hazel eyes cold, as he added, “they sound like home to me, but I believe they’d kill any others who heard their whispers” The sentience he referred to them with chilled even him. Azriel didn’t have to wonder why he’d asked, the dark shadows in his bright hazel eyes said enough. 

-

They winnowed back to the townhouse, Azriel and Rhys supporting Cassian between them. When they landed, Cass pale from exertion and pain, Rhys went ahead inside after shooting a worried look in the injured Illyrian’s direction. Az stayed with the Commander a moment longer, scarred hand resting on the back of his neck. When Cassian turned to him and nodded, jaw set, they marched into the townhouse, together. Amren was waiting in the kitchen, and upon seeing the two males, cast one a knowing look, of warning. The other received a slightly pitying look, if Amren could be capable of such a thing as pity. Without saying a word, she vacated the room, leaving behind a perfectly sliced loaf of bread and fruits from the gardens of Velaris. Az pointed a finger at the seat nearest the food, commanding. Cassian shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” 

 

“You’ll eat anyway. Get your strength back. Now sit.” Azriel’s tone was cool as ever, leaving no room for argument or discussion. In his four hundred and eighty years with Cass, he had never, not once, passed up food, as long as he knew it was safe. Not allowing his worry at this to show through, he settled into the chair opposite Cass and watched him, making sure he was really eating. 

 

“Mother hen.”

 

“You’ve already called Rhys that. Think of something original and maybe it’ll get to me,” was Az’s smooth reply. Cassian’s head shot up so fast Az worried about his neck. 

 

“Did you just make a joke?” The slight curl to the Spymaster’s lips indicated that yes, he indeed had. Cass shook his head, the slightest chuckle leaving his lips. For a moment he was the same light hearted, joking wise-ass Azriel knew him as, but it was gone in a flash. Despite his earlier protests, Cassian ate the majority of the loaf, and made it about halfway through the sweet purple grapes before stopping and pushing the plate away. “Why are you looking at me like that? Like you have no idea what to do with me?”

 

“Because, Cass, I don’t know what to do with you.”

 

“You could spar with me. I’ve been cooped up too much. I’ve got a lot of… unchanneled aggression.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Cass sounded incredulous, and there was a hint of a snarl behind his voice. “And why the hell not?”

 

Azriel remained as unruffled as always, calmly replying, “Your back isn’t healed enough to spar. You’ll open your wounds.”

 

“I don’t think you understand.” The dangerous edge to Cassian’s voice set the hair on Azriel’s neck standing on end. “I’m never going to fly again, I’ve hardly moved in days, and I  _ do _ know what’s best for me.”

  
Azriel stood up to his full height, barely an inch shorter than the other Illyrian, and planted his hands on the table, blue siphons catching the sun. “You’ve lost use of your wings. You’re grounded. A grounded creature meant for the sky will always have the same reaction as a caged one… fight or flight. However, flight has never been an option for your arrogant ass, and so you fight. You’ll fight with me in the ring, you’ll fight with me here at this table, I have a feeling you’d brawl straight through the streets like a feral animal.  _ Do not  _ give in to your base instincts at a time like this. You cannot surrender to this endless aggression, it will only  _ make things worse. _ ”  With that he sat back down, relaxed but ready to move quickly if needed. When Cass remained where he was, tensed, Azriel leant back in his chair, tipping onto two legs. “When I was locked in that cellar, day after day, I wished to surrender. I wanted to become feral and wild and hardly sentient or civilized. It would have been much easier than clinging on to my sanity by the slightest thread. But I did. Even today, I don't know why, or how. Maybe the shadows helped me. Here's the thing. You have loved ones helping you, trying to get you through this. So  _ don't,”  _ here his tone turned angry, “try that shit. I had  _ no one.  _ No one and nothing and I still made it out.” His hazel eyes burned with a fury he hadn't felt in years, not since Mor had been dumped on their border with a note nailed to her body. In an instant, however, the roiling sea of anger split, revealing something far more vulnerable. His voice dropped to a near whisper as he added, “If you can't do it for yourself, do it for us.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! Haven't posted in a few days! Yay for inactivity and laziness!

Cassian was floored. Azriel, hard, ice-cold, unfeeling, all knowing Azriel, had shown more emotion in minutes than Cass had ever gotten out of him in five hundred years. Az was staring at him, stone exterior carefully in place once again. There was a moment of charged silence as the two most powerful Illyrians in Prythian faced off. Ice and fire. Azriel tensed, obviously sensing the power rippling from his brother, and shields of blue light and black shadow flew up around him just as red exploded outward, sending a rippling wave of destruction. Glass shattered, wood splintered and fabric tore as unleashed power raged. Azriel let it happen, shielding only himself, knowing Cass would never let his power extend beyond this room. Cass had to appreciate that trust. And when he was finally managed to reel in his power, Az’s shields dropping, he fell into a crouch, elbows on his knees and hands fisted into his long hair. He felt strong, calloused fingers grip his chin and raised his head, meeting Azriel’s eyes. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips as he said, “Go upstairs and get some sleep. You’ve always been cranky when you’re tired.” 

 

“How can you do this? I just destroyed the kitchen, almost hurt you, I’ve tried to pick a fight with you several times today. How can you sit there and joke that I need to go to bed?”

 

“Because you do need to go to bed. Would you rather I avoid you and fear you? Would you prefer my pity? Do you want me to coddle you? Because that has never been who you are and I don’t think you’re about to start now. You saved my life, don’t think I’ll let that go to waste.” They maintained eye contact for a heartbeat before Cass dropped his head, resting his forehead on Az’s shoulder. 

 

“Thank you.” His voice was muffled by the dark mass of his brother around him; strong, slender arms wrapped around his body while carefully avoiding the bandages. 

-

The tin in Azriel’s hand had the sharp scent of pine. He experimentally rubbed the goo between his thumb and forefinger then delicately sniffed at it. Shrugging, he ordered, “Turn around.” 

Cass tried to protest that he could do this himself, but Az shook his head obstinately. “You can’t reach, and contorting your back and shoulders like that will just cause more pain.” Seeing the other male wouldn't back down, he sighed and turned around, rustling his tattered wings and wincing. Despite the immense pain in his wings, as Azriel’s fingers ghosted along the membrane, cool with the healing salve, every hair on his spine stood on end. A chill shot down his spine and he shivered when the gentle touch moved to the outer edge of his wings, near the talons. Azriel jerked his hand back as if he’d been shocked, muttering “Sorry.”

 

Az was, and always had been, incredibly shy of his wings. The only time Cass could remember him letting someone touch them was when Mor had measured to see whose were biggest, and he’d been slightly drunk then. They all had. (As it happens, Az had the biggest wingspan, though Rhys denied that to this day.) Cass had never been so shy, having allowed many people throughout his life to touch them, both in bed and out. 

 

“It’s okay Az, they’re just sensitive. You know this as well as me.” The roughened fingertips returned to the sensitive membrane and he finished spreading the ointment onto the damaged tissue. A cooling sensation spread through his back and wings, soothing the pain that still burned, almost unbearable. Once Azriel had finished Cass turned to him, pulling his shirt back over his head as he did so. Az caught a glimpse of one of his tattoos, a series of Illyrian runes curling around the back of his neck, down his left side and curving in to rest in a spiral around his navel. Azriel knew it well, had once reverently trailed his fingers down it when it was raw and still healing. It was the story of his first sixteen years of life, as a bastard forced to fight for the clothes on his back. “You’ve overcome before, against all odds.” Cassian didn’t ask what he was talking about, merely nodding placantly. The way Azriel’s eyes narrowed threateningly at his brother suggested he knew he wasn’t saying something, but he dropped it nonetheless. 

-

“I just can’t seem get rid of you, hm?”

 

Azriel’s voice came from behind him, slightly muffled by the pillow. “Never. I enjoy looking at your back in extremely close quarters too much. Two days in a row with your damn tattoo inches from my nose? Thank the Cauldron.” Az always had been freer and less rigid in the mornings, still tired from sleep. 

 

“I think there’s more than my back that you enjoy looking at, but maybe I shouldn’t mention that.” Az’s derisive snort told Cassian exactly what he thought about  _ that _ . Azriel watched appraisingly as Cassian stood, still in pain but without help. Being so weak pained him, and he knew other demons shadowed his eyes besides the frailty. Despite this, he managed to crack a cocky smile at Azriel which the spymaster returned, albeit somewhat softer. Cass tilted his head, considering. “I’ve seen all sorts of expressions on your face over the centuries, but I have never seen arrogance or anything near it.”

 

“Some might say you’ve got too much arrogance, Cassian.” Cass could concede to that point. 

 

“You’ve taken lovers over the years. What is it about you? My overall good looks and undeniable charm are obvious factors for me but-” Az shot him a warning look, which Cassian failed to heed. “-is it the tall, dark and mysterious?” 

 

“I’d prefer to  _ not  _ discuss my sex life with anyone, most especially you.” Cass’ arched eyebrow said he wasn’t happy to let this go. Azriel tolerated the prying questions more than he otherwise would have. He understood Cassian needed a distraction; humor and training were always his go-to’s.

  
“Get your ass out of my bed, Mor is going to think we’re  _ sleeping  _ sleeping with each other, and neither of us will ever hear the end of that.” Az scowled, but his rough chuckle belied his humor as he pushed back the sheets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at this point Az and Cass are coming across as hella gay/dating each other. This wasn't my initial idea, and I'll continue to write them as platonic, but honestly it's up for interpretation. That's the beauty of these things. From here on out, they're whatever you want them to be. Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five-  _Morrigan_

 

Mor hadn’t expected to walk into the townhouse to such tension. Usually filled with the sounds of various members of the Inner Circle, it was now mostly quiet. Amren was hidden away at her own apartment decoding the Book, Feyre was still in the Spring Court and Cassian had gone for a brisk walk, having been forbidden from any activity more strenuous than that. That left Azriel and Rhys, both of whom were talking in hushed whispers, standing in the ruins of the kitchen that Rhys had yet to put back together. Mor knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but Fae ears were a blessing and a curse and she couldn’t help herself.  _ Curiosity killed the bat,  _ she thought with some amusement, but remembered the second half of that saying a moment later.  _ But satisfaction brought it back.  _ With that, she crept closer to the doorway on preternaturally silent feet. Az’s voice slithered around the doorframe and into her ears, “I’ve always been afraid of getting too close to him. I’m ice, he’s fire, and I was afraid if I got too close, he’d melt me. Something worse is happening, Rhys.” The tinge of desperation in his tone made her realize this was likely not a conversation to be overheard, but she couldn’t help herself. 

 

“That flame, it’s cooling. He’s turning to ice, Rhys, and it’s my fault.”

 

“Azriel, listen to me, what he did was all him, his decision to make. You know he would have tried to shield you even if you weren’t injured, it’s what he does. He sacrifices himself for others, just as you would, just as I would.”

 

“Losing me, that wouldn’t be such a tragedy. I’ve got more blood on my hands than I like to think about, not all of it for the right reasons. I’m stone cold and have little love in my heart to give.” Mor covered her mouth with her hand, feeling tears threatening to spill. Az, precious, kind Azriel, who was fond of sitting in the garden and sunning his wings for Cauldron’s sake, truly thought himself this tainted and worthless. A thought struck her, sudden as a bolt of lightning.  _ Was this  _ her  _ fault?  _ She knew Azriel had been pining after her for centuries, and had never managed to work up to telling him she would never feel the same, that she preferred women and it was nothing to do with his character at all. She vowed to let her shadowsinger know how much she truly appreciated and loved him. 

 

Rhy’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. His voice was harsh and Mor could hear the pain behind it as he insisted, “No, Az. You have more love than I think you know what to do with. Granted, you don’t express it quite the same as everyone, considering the only person you even allow physical contact with is Cassian, or Mor and I on a good day.” She heard a hiss of breath and a faint  _ click _ , surmising that Rhys had forcefully jabbed a long, slender finger at Azriel’s chest. Right over his glimmering blue siphons, if she knew Rhys at all. “And as for the matter of Cassian, I don’t think turning the kitchen into wood scraps and paint chips is ‘turning into ice.’” 

 

“Ice isn’t quite the problem, barring what I said earlier. One minute he’s sullen, the next cracking the same infuriating, arrogant grin, then he’s destroying the kitchen, and a minute later making jokes about his ass.” Mor had known Rhys long enough to imagine the expression on his face at that one, a single, subtle, upward flick of an eyebrow. “Volatile, we can work with. Stabilizing is easier than reviving. Give it time.” 

 

Mor chose this moment to strut into the room, red dress swirling around her ankles, and chirped a cheery, “Good morning!” pretending she hadn’t heard much of what had just been said. Her finger brushed featherlight against Azriel’s shoulder as she passed him, headed towards the metal cooling box which had survived mostly intact. He jolted as if he’d been shocked, but Mor simply ignored this and reached for an apple. Mor knew she had a commanding presence, one that could fill a room, and she used this to her advantage, dispelling the lingering gloom in the air with a dramatic eye roll. “The most powerful High Lord in Prythian can’t repair a kitchen?” She  _ tsked  _ and Rhys growled. 

 

“I’ve forgotten how infuriating you can be, Cousin.” 

A light chuckle from red-painted lips. “I could say the same,  _ Cousin. _ ” 

 

She heard a weary sigh as Azriel stood with all the grace of a mountain cat, movements smooth. “If family drama is happening, I would like to  _ not _ be around for it. If I’m needed, I’ll be in the garden.” His tone suggested someone had better be dying for anyone to interrupt his peace and quiet. With that declaration, he stalked off up the stairs. 

 

Mor stared after him with a fond smile, tempted to laugh. “The fearsome shadowsinger, Spymaster of the Night Court, enjoys sunning his wings in a rooftop garden. God forbid that gets out, his reputation will suffer for centuries.” She shot a look at Rhys and found his violet eyes on her. “What, Rhysand?”

 

“You should tell him.”

 

Mor’s eye roll could rival her earlier action as she turned to face the Illyrian. “I’m not so sure telling him would make things any better. ‘Oh, Azriel, I know you’ve been pining after me for centuries, but I actually prefer women. Surprise!’ I don’t think that will help him stop loving me.”

 

“Mor, Azriel will love you until he’s the dust and darkness between the stars. Don’t think I don’t know that. But telling him, maybe it will make him feel less guilt. He’s taken lovers over the years, and every time he’s felt this guilt, like he’s been unfaithful to you. He needs to be able to move on, and he can’t.”

 

Mor hadn’t heard this before, not having made a habit of prying into her friend’s love life. She knew he deserved better than to be dragged along for the rest of his long life. Guilt Azriel may have felt, but he wasn’t alone. “I’ll talk to him. Now. He needs to know.” Rhys nodded solemnly, the hint of his smile on his face.

-

The sun shone through the fine membrane of Azriel’s wings, turning the black a beautiful red-gold. Finer lines of dark veins traced through like rivers across a landscape. His feet were propped on the table, a book resting on his thighs. He didn’t turn when Mor opened the door to the rooftop garden and stepped out, though he undoubtedly knew she was there. He didn’t look up when she took the seat across from him, but one eyebrow slowly rose when  she cleared her through. “Az. I know you came here for some quiet, but I do want to talk to you.”

 

Azriel heard the tone of her voice and looked up, shutting his book around his index finger to keep his place. Hazel met brown as they made eye contact and he dipped his chin slightly, an admission that he was listening. Mor dropped her gaze, unable to look him in the eye. She instead watched the glint of the sun on his talons as his wings rustled. “It’s no secret to any of the Inner Circle- your feelings for me.” She heard an intake of breath and felt, more than saw, every muscle in his body lock up. “I would like to start by apologizing. I will never love you back, not the way you want.”

 

The Illyrian’s tone was stiff as he replied, “Is this all you came to tell me? I know that, Mor, and I’ve accepted it. I will take your love, in whichever way you choose to give it. It’s your choice.” The way he said this made her think of what he’d sworn to one day do to the people who had taken her freedom, taken her choices, and thrown them into the gutter along with her mutilated body. 

 

“Azriel, please listen to me. I-” Mor had never had trouble with talking to her friends, trusting them beyond anything. She had also come to terms with her sexuality decades ago, but somehow this was much harder than she had anticipated. “- I prefer women, Azriel.” 

 

Az’s face shifted ever so slightly and he blinked, the only sign of surprise he would show. She opened her mouth to say more but Azriel held up a finger, stopping her. “You don’t have to apologize for something like that. You don’t even have to apologize for your feelings towards me. Whatever you feel for whomever you feel it is your decision and yours alone. Mor couldn’t quite say why, but she felt like crying. This male in front of her always doubted he was good enough for her, never made an attempt to act on his feelings because of that, yet here he was being so unbelievably kind. She abruptly stood and flung herself across the table, hugging him tight. He went stiff as a board but relaxed after a moment, wrapping strong arms around her and gently rubbing her back, scarred, gentle hands going in soothing circles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware it's "curiosity killed the cat" not "bat" but I thought I'd change it for amusement's sake


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the chapters so far have been one POV, but this one switched partway through, for 'narrational purposes.' (AKA each being too short to be an individual chapter)

Chapter 6-  _ Rhysand _

 

Rhys sunk into a reassembled chair once Mor had gone to the roof after Azriel and they were both still there. Rhys hadn’t moved either, and he he was now lost deep in thought. Only centuries of training kept him from jumping when the front door slammed shut, clearly Cassian as no one else would or could make so much noise. He stalked into the kitchen in a marginally better mood than earlier and a growl rumbled from his throat at the sight of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Rhys, I haven’t lost control like that since I got my third siphon. It’s like I’m some flightless fledgling with no sense of their own power.” Rhys heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair, tousling it. 

“Kitchen incidents aside, Cass, you’ve been handling this remarkably well.” Rhys snapped his fingers and shards of wood flew together, mending themselves back into a chair; he gestured for Cassian to sit.

Cass plopped his huge form into the chair with almost enough force to break it again, then winced and muttered a curse when the movement jarred his injured back. His long hair was tousled, swept back, Rhys surmised it was quite windy. “Breezy out there today?”

“You’re not here to talk about weather, my Lord.” Cassian spit the last words like poison from his mouth, and Rhys blinked, taken aback by the bitterness in them. Cassian had never before begrudged him his position and power, preferring an absolute, complete irreverence and lack sense of respect, in true Cassian style. The instant the words were out of his mouth he rubbed his face in his hands, groaning in frustration. 

“ _That’_ s what I’m here to talk about, brother.” Cass settled back into his chair, propping his feet on the table and tilting it onto the back two legs. “What to do with you.” Cass’ impatient huff was animal, and Rhys almost swore he saw canines flash as the Illyrian hissed, 

“You sound exactly like Azriel. Did the two of you hold a secret, Cassian intervention meeting? I’m not going to sit here and-” His near escape was halted by dark power coiling around the hand planted on the table. He jerked his arm, the limb not budging an inch, and looked towards Rhys, eyes darkening in warning. 

“I have never used my power to take advantage of you. Never you. Please don’t make me start now,” Rhys pleaded, violet eyes catching the sun and turning impossibly bright. 

Cass yanked his arm once again, nearly toppling over when the power holding his hand released. Regaining his impeccable balance, the Illyrian straitened up, adjusted the hem of his shirt, and reclaimed his chair, settling in with minimal patience. “I will not restrain you again, if you want to leave you can.” Rhys’ beautiful face seemed carved from stone, but Cass could see the pain underneath. 

“I’ll stay.” Unspoken words lingered in the air between them.  _ For you, not me.  _ “Azriel talked to me already, gave me the grounded-bird talk.” 

“Azriel.” One brow lifted in a graceful arch. “Azriel gave you a  _ talk _ ? The same male who  _ can _ and  _ will _ go the entire day without speaking a word?” Cass shrugged. 

“He was quite eloquent. He has a way with words, that one.” He failed to mention the raw emotion in the Spymaster’s outburst. 

“In that case, we can skip straight to what you’re going to do. I want you to go to the war camps and help train the young.” Cass snorted derisively. 

“I doubt the fledgling warriors will take well to a crippled instructor. The camps respect only strength.”

“You are strong, Cassian. You’re the best ground fighter I’ve ever met, and the little upstarts need to learn to fight without using their wings. That was always getting us in trouble, using them for strength and balance. Who better to teach them?” Cass’ eyes were cold, but indecision brimmed in them. “And who better to teach the young ones about their siphons than the male who has seven? Quite frankly, you’re overqualified.”

“General, down to schoolteacher. How fortunate for me.” Cassian’s tone was bitter. 

Rhys tipped his head back and laughed, raven hair flopping backwards. Idiotic bat. “I never said a word about demotion. You’re still General, Cassian. Never doubt that.”

A cruel smile twisted Cassian’s rough-hewn features. “Now isn’t that just favoritism? It’s logical to have an Illyrian who can fly leading your arial armies, there’s no advantage to keeping me.”

Rhys’ smile was strangely knowing as he simply replied, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You always do.”

  
  


Still Chapter 6-  _ Azriel _

Mor had settled back into her chair, intent on staying, while Azriel had accepted her presence; his book lay face down on the table, untouched. 

“Have you ever been with a female?”

“Azriel,” Mor mock-scolded, “are you asking me about my private life? What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.” Azriel gave a little cough.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant have you ever been involved with? Courted, is what I mean.” Mor smiled softly, 

“Long, long ago, yes.” Azriel tilted his head, thinking. Realization suddenly dawned on his face.  

“Andromache.” Mor nodded. 

“Have you ever been with a male?” Mor’s tone was joking enough, but his hazel eyes shot up to her, shocked, almost scared. Her lips titled up in a coy smile. “That looks like a yes, Azriel. Out with it. Was it some handsome, strong Illyrian back in the war camps? A beautiful High Fae here in Velaris?” Azriel could feel a blush rising high on his cheeks and an unbidden image of tanned, hard muscles under his scarred hands flashed into his head. He cleared his throat. 

“It was, uh, only- I just- twice-” He couldn’t properly get the sentence out of his mouth so instead he clamped it shut, intent on saying nothing more. Mor’s delighted laugh rang out. 

“Don’t think you can just clam up like that. I’m getting more details, you giant bat.” Azriel shuffled his wings, planning his chances for escape until Mor leveled him with  _ a look _ and he thought better of it. He still refused to say anything, keeping his lips pressed tight together into a thin, white line. “Is it someone I know? If so, I might just go to them for the story, and I’m not so sure that would be any better for you.”

Azriel laughed a short, pained laugh. “I guess you do know them, fairly well I’d say.” 

“Luka?” Mor guessed, referencing one of the Illyrians who was fairly close with her on her occasional visits to the war camps. Azriel shook his head, muttering a prayer to the Mother that she didn’t keep along this line of guessing. “Aleron?” Another negative. “Roan?” After Az shook his head for the third time she threw her hands into the air, clearly frustrated. “Cauldron knows it could have been our own little Cassian for all I could ever guess.” Azriel could feel the color drain from his face and Mor’s jaw hit the ground. “No…” 

They had been young, even by human standards. Azriel was eighteen and Cassian was nineteen, mere weeks away from twenty. Young, foolish Illyrians who would try anything to satisfy that curiosity and lust for life. Not just for life, Azriel ruminated. It was one-time thing, in their tiny tent in the camp. The night air had been strangely hot and humid, more so than it ever got in the Steppes, and they’d both been covered in sweat. Azriel had a distinct mental image of his mouth on the strong column of Cassia’s throat, the salt-  _ Nope.  _ He shook off the memories like a dog shaking off water. Mor was still staring at him, expectantly yet not patiently waiting for an explanation. When he remained silent she kicked him, her bare foot connecting with his shin. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have, but he winced for her benefit. Heaving a sigh, he obliged her, 

“We were not quite twenty, in the camps. It was just once.” This was apparently a disappointing answer, because Mor slumped in her chair a little. She perked up after a moment. “Was he good? All I have to go on is that one time and I was hardly focused on-” She trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. Az cringed at the memory of what she’d done, felt she had to do. “-but either way I wouldn’t really know,” she finished, chipper once again. Az just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “It was fantastic. Best sex I’ve ever had. Is that the answer you want?” 

“I want an honest answer, Azriel.” 

“I’ve said plenty on this topic, I’m done. Ask Cassian if you must, but I’m done.”

Mor was pressing for answers and she was intent on getting them. “So it was just one time, then you never looked back, never even  _ thought _ of it again?” At this, Azriel winced, not faked in the slightest. “So you did think of it again.” Her brown eyes glinted, Az could tell she was just playing with him now. “Was it in bed, later, alone-”

“Mother’s tit’s, Mor.” Az had never much been one for swearing, but the situation seemed to call for it. “It was in bed with another male almost two hundred years later. Now excuse me, I’m done gossiping like a High Fae Lady.” He stood up, shoving his chair back as he did so, and stormed towards the door. 

“Azriel.” Mor called out. He stopped, not turning. “You forgot your book.” This was accompanied by a soft whistling sound and Azriel turned, hand shooting up to catch the wayward literature inches from his face. Mor was laughing and Azriel’s temper softened. 

“Enjoy the sunshine. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. For a  _ real  _ issue.” He added, after seeing her face light up. She huffed and crossed her slim arms petulantly. 

Az sighed and turned back the steps, muttering to himself as he did so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Cassian/Azriel thing I threw in for shits and giggles. Next chapter will likely be the last time it's mentioned


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *AHEM*  
> *PLEASE READ THIS IT'S IMPORTANT*  
> *YES, I'M TALKING TO YOU*  
> *CAROL THIS ISN'T A JOKE, IT'S ACTUALLY IMPORTANT*  
> *sorry if your name is Carol I'm not actually calling you out*
> 
> So just a warning- this chapter contains homophobic slurs (the f word- no, not fuck) If this is potentially a trigger, you can skip this chapter, I will have a brief yet thorough summary right here. 
> 
>  
> 
> Summary:  
> Mor terrorizes Cassian about him and Azriel that one time, Rhys laughs at them. 
> 
> Cass has accepted Rhys' offer to train the young Illyrians. One of them gives him a lot of trouble, a young male who calls him a cripple, unfit for being General. Cass roughs him up and the boy, now angry, brings up the rumors that circle about Cass and Az having slept together, (cue the slurs) and Cass injures him enough he is sent to the infirmary. From then, the other fledglings show more respect.
> 
> Later Cass is in his tent and Azriel is there, having winnowed in. Azriel's shadows come back to him and he reports blood, he says it's fresh and races out of the tent, following his shadows. Cass is confused but he follows him (bc you know he'd follow him /anywhere/- #bestfriendgoals)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been ages since I updated, I've been hella busy.

Chapter 7-  _Cassian_

 

Cass was feeling worn out, and had every intent of going upstairs to his room and taking a much-needed nap. Since when had half a day been so tiring for his immortal body? He had just begun standing up, hissing through his teeth at the strain on his back, when Azriel stalked down the stairs. He gave Cass a long, unreadable look and said, “Mor will probably be down soon. I assume she’s going to interrogate you next.” Cassian had no idea what this might be about, but the foreboding look in Az’s hazel eyes made him reconsider everything he’d done in all his five hundred years. He sat back down in his chair, bracing himself. Minutes after Azriel had strode out the door to Cauldron-knows-where Mor flounced down the steps with a big grin.  _ Flounced.  _ Rhys seemed torn between leaving his cousin to the mood she was clearly in and seeing what this latest drama might be about. He evidently decided on staying, crossing his arms over his chest with a shit-eating grin. 

 

“This is your problem to deal with brother, I just enjoy watching my cousin wreak havoc.” Cass sighed and turned to the Morrigan. She maintained the silence for a beat before blurting out, 

 

“So, you and Az,” with a grin. Realization dawned on Cass as he wondered how she had wrangled that information out of Azriel. Carefully keeping his face neutral, he shrugged. 

 

“What about Az and I?” Mor leveled her brown eyes at him in a look that spoke volumes, Rhys’ gaze flickering back and forth between the two immortals. They had never told him, but Cassian had always assumed Rhys would know, as he seemed to know everything he had no business knowing. Something he and his cousin had in common, it seems. Cass made what he hoped to be an innocent face and snarked, “don’t get me wrong, that male has a spectacular physique, I may have thought of it once or twice, but nothing happened.” Rhys’ fucking grin was not helping matters. Mor sensed this and rounded on her cousin. “What do you know?”

 

“Nothing.” The glint in his eyes spoke volumes about whether this was the truth or not. With a brief glance at the Illyrian, Rhys continued. “Okay, so all I know is they fucked once. Neither of them told me anything, though, and I didn’t exactly want to go digging.” Cass decided this conversation was definitely his cue for leaving and he stood, shooting a look towards his High Lord. 

 

“Are you going to restrain me again, Rhysand?” Rhys’ mild look answered none of the questions in Mor’s eyes, but Cassian took it as permission to exit. 

-

The cold wind tore through the pines surrounding the camp, the purpose for the Illyrians’ thick leathers made clear. Cassian paced in front of the young warriors like a restless panther, feral and vicious. Here, in the brutal war camps of the Steppes, he’d need to channel his persona, the same he wore in the Court of Nightmares; loyal, savage soldier, willing to kill,  _ wanting  _ to kill. The Illyrians before him had all grown up in these camps, seen the worst they had to offer, but Cassian vowed to make himself the worst of all. The ‘nice’ tactic hadn’t worked the day before, now almost none of his charges were showing any respect at all. 

 

“Yesterday I was lenient, today is when your training will truly start.” A brief silence followed Cassian’s statement, before a voice, filled with the snark of an arrogant youth, drawled, 

 

“I’m not sure how much we could even learn from a wingless  _ General.”  _ The last word was spit with venom, distaste for the crippled thing that somehow held a position of power. 

 

“Step forward,” Cass demanded, eyes promising violence as his massive wings flared behind him, scarred and torn. A tall, lanky boy stepped forward, leanly muscled and confidently posed, smirking. In the war camps, disrespect was frowned upon and punished harshly, but risking your neck for the sake of a taunt or joke would gain respect at the same time. The boy’s stance was relaxed, he expected no retribution from Cass, so when the older male lunged he’d barely moved an inch before Cassian’s hand was around his throat. He lifted the boy up until his toes barely grazed the ground, the youth’s face turning scarlet. White teeth glinted inches from his nose as Cass snarled, “you will give me my due respect because, wings or no, I am still  _ much  _ older than you and, as you will discover,  _ much  _ more experienced.” He released the boy, his knees buckling as he hit the ground again. “I’d beat your sorry ass, but I won’t kick someone who’s already down.” He took a step back from the crumpled mess in the mud, twenty one pairs of hazel eyes watching him warily. He tapped the ruby siphons on the backs of his hands and his chest then gestured to the other four adorning his shoulders and knees. “I am one of two Illyrians, in all of history, to have more than three siphons. Seven, to be precise. The only Illyrian who would stand any chance against me is our High Lord’s Spymaster Azriel, who has seven as well. I suggest you  _ all  _ show some respect.” 

 

The same insufferable boy from mere minutes ago had picked himself up off the ground and now stood before Cassian once again, cocky grin back, neck already bruising. “You know, for decades rumors circled about you and the spymaster. Even now you still hear the occasional whisper. Tell us, were the two of you  _ lovers? _ ” Cass was seeing red and the dumbass in front of him knew it, continuing to taunt. “You know, a cripple for general is one thing, but a  _ fag _ ? That’s something else.” Once again Cassian moved far too fast for any of the trainees to see and before anyone could so much as twitch the boy was back on his knees, blood spreading in the mud under him. The hilt protruding from his stomach was also covered in blood. Cassian just snorted derisively, “I didn’t hit anything vital, you’ll heal just fine. Next time I’ll aim for something more important.” He jerked his head at the crowd of gaping boys, two of whom rushed forward and grabbed the little rebel under his arms, dragging him towards the infirmary tent. The General turned to the others, sighing. “Delays aside, we’ll start your training now.” They nodded mutely and Cassian resisted the urge to sigh. Quelling any and all rebellion from a large group of young Illyrian males? Impossible. Unless, apparently, you nearly kill one of them. 

-

“ _ It’ll be a good experience. You’re quite qualified. You can handle them. _ ” Cassian’s high voice, pitched upward in mockery of Rhys, was full of bitterness. Azriel just watched him carefully from his spot on the bed. He’d winnowed in after dark, straight into Cass’ damn tent; nearly gave him a heart attack. “As a whole they were okay after a threw a dagger into one of them.” 

 

Az lightly coughed, dark eyebrows shooting up, “you what?” 

 

“In all fairness I choked him first, after he informed me he didn’t approve of a  _ cripple  _ being General.” Azriel winced in sympathy, Cass continuing on. “After he called me a fag was when I introduced him to my knife.” Az hissed in a breath between his teeth, a dangerous edge in his eyes. 

 

“Did he have a reason behind it or is that word still the camp favorite for any and all occasions?” 

 

Cassian laughed humorlessly, “It was related to some, ah, rumors…” Azriel’s expression made Cassian think he knew exactly which rumors, but he continued. “ …about the two of us.”

 

“Hm,” was the shadowsinger’s only response. 

 

“You would think enough happens in a war camp that they’d have forgotten about it. It’s been five centuries, Az, that’s a fucking long time.”

 

“Apparently not when it comes to two of their best male warriors fucking.” Cass nodded his aquescience at this. There was a lull in the conversation, the sounds of a war camp at night surrounding them. It was never quiet in these mountains, in the camp or the forest, always filled with the hoots of owls and shushing of pine branches in the near- constant wind. With no indication what had caught his attention Az’s head whipped towards the tent flaps. Cassian wasn’t sure if he was failing to pick up sounds despite his preternatural hearing, but when Azriel’s shadows skittered through the flaps and curled around his ankles he realized it was nothing he’d have ever known about. 

 

“They’re like dogs with their master,” he murmured. Az ignored him, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. 

 

“It smells like blood.” 

 

“Az, it’s an Illyrian war camp, it always smells like blood. I’d be concerned if it didn’t.”

 

“Fresh blood, Cass,” and he was up and out of the tent in the blink of an eye. Cassian followed his brother out of the tent, unsure of what he was getting into but positive he’d be there to back him up. 


End file.
